


No Ghost At Midnight

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark and stormy night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Ghost At Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second of my stories from the zine "The Club Doom 

## No Ghost At Midnight

by PJ

Author's disclaimer: No, they're still not mine. Pet Fly and UPN still hold any and all rights to them. I gotta go buy some more lottery tickets. 

Companion." My thanks to Gena for encouraging me to post it here. I have included, for the sake of total honesty, the rape/nc rating though the assault took place years before the story line and is mentioned only briefly. 

* * *

"What the...?" Blinking in astonishment, Jim Ellison hurriedly guided the still-moving truck onto the side of the highway and braked carefully. The cold, heavy rain had turned the road's shoulders into rushing rivers; with braking and steering considerably altered due to the mysterious engine stall, Ellison had no wish to suddenly find himself upside down in a ditch. Stationary once more, he shifted into park and twisted the ignition key. Dead silence greeted his efforts. Swearing under his breath, he tried again. Nothing. 

"What's wrong?" queried a groggy voice. There was a rustling as the indistinct shadow in the passenger seat came upright. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Blair Sandburg blearily looked around at the rain-soaked darkness, asking, "Why have we stopped here, Jim?" 

"We didn't stop here, Sandburg--the truck did," shot back the bigger man testily, futilely trying the ignition again and again. "Damn engine just suddenly died on me, and before you ask...no, I did not hit a puddle and flood the stupid thing. It just quit." Throwing his hands up in disgust, the cop sat there, glaring. "This makes no sense at all. The headlights are still working, so obviously the battery and alternator are okay. So why won't the damn thing turn over?" he shouted, viciously cranking the ignition key. Silence. "Great. Just fucking great." Sullenly giving in to the inevitable, he switched off the headlights. 

Giving the saturated countryside a jaundiced look, Sandburg jumped at the sharp flash of lightening, followed by booming thunder that made the truck windows shake. "So, what do we do now, man? Do we just wait and hope for rescue, or do we try to walk it? How far are we from the nearest town?" 

"Luckily, not that far," admitted Ellison, leaning over and reaching into the glove compartment for a flashlight. Straightening, he thrust a thumb over his shoulder as he said, "We just passed through some small town; Wind Swept Bay, I think it was. Can't be more than four or five miles back." Hearing his partner's barely audible groan, he smiled and added, "Buck up. We shouldn't have to go that far. There was a sign for a hotel or something a mile or so out of town." Zipping his jacket up, Ellison pulled the collar up around his ears and opened the truck door, getting out. "C'mon, Chief; sooner started, sooner there." 

"Man, I _hate_ being cold! I am never going to forget to recharge the cell phone battery again," grumbled the young anthropologist. Not needing to zip his jacket--due to the miniscule level of heat Ellison would grudgingly allow in his truck, his was already zipped to the chin and had been for hours--Sandburg gritted his teeth and fumbled for the door catch. A blast of fury-driven, icy rain caught him full in the face as he emerged. Glowering at his laughing lover as he came up beside him, he hunched deeper into his jacket, shouting to be heard over the furious gale. "What are we waiting for, then?" 

Swallowing his chuckles, Ellison reached up and patted a wet cheek. Then, flicking on the flashlight, he took the point, heading back in the direction of the small town. 

* * *

Some forty-five minutes later, Ellison was seriously reconsidering the wisdom of their trek. The driving March rain and high winds had lowered visibility to almost nil, even to someone with sentinel sight. As the ground to either side of the highway was nothing but fiercely flowing rivers of mud and water, they were forced to walk down the middle of the road, without even the dubious benefit of the trees to shelter some of the rain. Another explosion of thunder boomed overhead; grimacing in pain, he tried once more to turn down the dial on his hearing. His temples throbbed with decibel-induced discomfort. The high-pitched shrieking of the wind, drum-roll of thunder, and constant booms of storm-tossed waves crashing against the sea cliffs just off to his right had combined to give him a raging headache. 

Maybe the damn dial didn't work, mused Ellison miserably, because he'd already used it so much to negate the effects of the icy rain and wind. Though he was soaked to the skin, he wasn't all that cold; just a bit chilly, actually. Blair, however, wasn't so fortunate. Even without using his sensitive hearing, the detective could practically hear the younger man's teeth chatter. He could certainly feel the almost constant shudders running through the sturdy body through the medium of their clasped hands. Several miles back, a blast of wind had rammed into Sandburg, knocking him to his knees. If Ellison hadn't been looking back just then, he would never have heard Blair's yelp over the noise of the storm. Having had the breath knocked out of him by the fall, Sandburg had just nodded when Jim insisted they link up. He wasn't adverse to holding hands regardless of the circumstances. Thoroughly wet and chilled, trying not to limp too noticeably on a bruised right knee, the grad student forced himself to keep up with the long-legged Ellison. He refused to burden Jim's already over-active conscience with the results of his tumble. Blair didn't have to be psychic to know his lover was busily reproaching himself for suggesting the walk back into town. 

Eyes narrowed against the rain, the Sentinel flinched violently when a streak of lightening flashed right before him, searing his retinas. "Damn!" he cursed, rubbing at his tearing eyes. 

"Jim!" shouted Blair, pressed up against the bigger man in order to be heard. "Are you okay?" 

Blinking rapidly to clear his vision of the remaining spots and sparkles, Ellison focused on the concerned face so close to his. "Yeah, Chief, I'm fine." Seeing the doubtful look, he smiled reassuringly. "Honestly, it just blinded me for a second. But I did see something, too." 

"What?" 

"The road sign for that hotel--can't be more than another couple hundred yards." 

"Praise the gods." 

Giving him a quick grin, Ellison leaned over and planted a kiss on the cold forehead. "Ready, then? Won't be long now before we can get you into a nice, hot shower." Taking the heartfelt groan as assent, he set off again. Coming up to the discreet white sign, though, he let out a groan of his own and stood there, swearing under his breath. Of all the rotten luck... 

'This way to 'The Smuggler's Cove' read the ornate, black lettering. 'Wind Swept Bay's premiere Bed and Breakfast. Luxurious rooms available, each with its own fireplace and ensuite bathroom. Open from May 1st thru Labor Day weekend. Reservations recommended.' 

Again reading his lover's mind easily, Blair stated firmly, "This is not your fault, man; there's no way you could've known. Besides," he went on, forestalling the incipient interruption, "even if they are closed, there might be a caretaker on the premises. We might as well take an look." He set off down the graveled side road without a backward glance. 

"Yes, sir!" snorted Ellison, catching up. They hurried along the winding road, the thick growth of trees keeping out the worst of the rain and wind. Rounding a sharp bend, they were met by a gust of wind that nearly swept the lighter Sandburg off his feet again. Grabbing him just in time, Ellison held him close and surveyed the building looming before them. Perched on the cliff in the middle of a clearing, the rambling Victorian edifice radiated a sense of elegance and antiquity even in the midst of the raging storm. More welcome, still, was the sight of a brightly lit room on the ground floor. 

The two shared a quick grin before Ellison, keeping Sandburg close in a protective embrace, guided them both up the wooden stairs and across the wide verandah. Oh, please, prayed Sandburg as Jim rang the bell, please let them be enough of a Good Samaritan to have pity on two drowned men. 

An agonizing eternity later, the door finally opened a crack. "Oh, my gracious!" exclaimed a soft, feminine voice. The door abruptly shut again, but before either one could protest, a brilliant porchlight snapped on overhead, blinding them both. They were still trying to clear their vision when the door swung wide and a matronly voice scolded, "My goodness, what ocean did you two fall in? Come inside this instant before you catch your deaths!" 

"Thanks," mumbled Blair as he stepped in, hastily towing his lover behind him. "You're a lifesaver." 

"I'd say so," agreed the woman, turning back from closing the door. A moment of silence fell as they studied each other, the woman automatically hanging up their dripping jackets. 

Ellison found himself nodding in approval; the voice had not lied. Still slender, petite (she barely came up to Sandburg's chin), the elderly woman gazed at him out of startlingly youthful brown eyes. With her short, neat gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses, she was the epitome of 'Grandma'. Seemingly unafraid of suddenly finding herself face to face with two strange men--one of whom fairly towered over her--she merely tsked and shook her head. "Why on earth are you two boys out in this weather?" 

Belatedly remembering manners, Ellison pulled out his ID, saying, "We're really grateful to you, ma'am, for letting us in. I'm Detective James Ellison, Cascade P.D. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." 

Giving the embossed card and gold badge a quick once-over, she said, surprised, "Cascade? As in Cascade, Washington?" 

"Yes, ma'am," confirmed the cop. 

"Now what would two Washington police officers be doing in northern Oregon?" 

"We were on our way home from Portland," explained Blair, trying to rub some life back into his frozen fingers. "We'd only gotten a few miles out of town when our truck suddenly died." 

Sharp eyes noticed his efforts and the lined face screwed up in self-disgust. "Now I know I'm an old woman," she said tartly. "I'm standing here gossiping while you're both soaking wet and freezing! Stay here," she threw over her shoulder, vanishing down the hallway. Scant minutes later, she was back, laden with two dark blue bathrobes. Handing them to Ellison, she pointed to a door and said, "We always keep a few of these about for guests who forget their own. That's the bathroom, and there are plenty of towels. Go take a hot shower, the both of you." 

"Oh, man, thanks!" At the mention of a hot shower, Sandburg was prepared to get down and kiss this goddess' feet. 

"You're quite welcome." Twinkling eyes swept up and down the bedraggled young man. "Police officers, huh?" she said in a wry aside to Jim. "I guess that means he's older than he looks." 

Biting back a chuckle at the exasperated look on Blair's expressive face, Ellison gravely replied, "Yes, ma'am. Chronologically, that is." 

"Gee, thanks, Jim," shot back Blair sarcastically. 

Hiding a smile of her own, the woman shooed them down the hall with a wave of her hand. "When you get finished, come on into the kitchen...that door there," indicating an oak door at the end of the hall, "...and I'll have something hot for you to eat. Oh, and by the way," Ellison and Sandburg stopped and turned around. "I'm Beth Burke. Welcome to 'The Smuggler's Cove'." 

"Thanks." Ellison nodded once more before ushering Blair into the cheerful bathroom. 

"Oh, man!" groaned Sandburg, cold fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons. "I hope the hot water heater is bigger than the one at home. I'm gonna stay in that shower for an hour!" 

Grinning, Ellison lent his assistance, helping to peel the clinging, wet clothes off the younger man. When that was done, he turned on the shower and, after carefully mixing the hot and cold water, gently shoved his lover under the steamy spray. "That better, Chief?" 

"I'll say," asserted Sandburg, turning around so the water hit his back. "C'mon, Jim, shift it," he ordered. "Get in here before you get pneumonia or something." 

"This isn't exactly private, Sandburg," Ellison said mildly, though he continued stripping with alacrity. 

"The door's locked, isn't it?" argued Blair, reaching out to yank the taller man into the shower stall with him. Grabbing up a bar of soap, he proceeded to wash the broad chest. "Anyway, she seems like a very nice lady. I doubt Mrs. Burke will just waltz in without at least knocking first." 

"Miss, Chief," mumbled Jim, luxuriating in the pampering hands. 

"Huh?" Glancing up at him, Blair continued his ministrations. 

Taking the soap, Ellison said, "No ring on her finger, and she's of the generation that always wore one. Even after being widowed." 

"Oh." Enjoying his turn at being spoiled, Blair suddenly laughed. "Watch it, man. You know I'm ticklish there!" He swatted at the soapy fingers playing with his navel. Trying to dodge the too-knowing digits, he slipped slightly in the wet stall, coming down hard on his right leg. "Ow!" he yelped, lurching against his partner's muscular form. 

Immediately, a long arm reached out and turned off the shower. Before he could do more than blink, Blair found himself bundled into a sweet-smelling bath towel and seated unceremoniously on the closed toilet lid. "Hey!" he protested. "We weren't finished in there yet!" 

Ellison ignored him as, kneeling on the bath rug, he carefully ran gentle fingers over the puffy, discolored knee. Sandburg just shook his head and remained silent. Worse than a hen with one chick, his Jim...and he wouldn't have it any other way, Blair decided, fighting back a wince when the long fingers probed a particularly tender spot. "It's just bruised, Jim," he said quietly. "Nothing serious." 

"Yeah," agreed Ellison, though a slight twinge of guilt still colored the blue eyes when he looked up. 

"Look at it this way," offered Blair, handing him a bath towel from the rack. "At least I didn't bruise anything important." 

"Thank God for small favors," intoned his lover piously. 

Blair finished towelling off and hurriedly wrapped himself in one of the soft, terrycloth robes. "These are really warm!" he exclaimed delightedly. A mischievous look came into the smoky blue eyes. "You're gonna roast, man. Just wrap a towel around yourself; give the old girl a thrill." 

Ellison quickly belted a robe about himself. "Only in your wildest dreams, Chief." He opened the bathroom door and gestured his partner ahead. "C'mon, let's go see what's on offer in the kitchen." As the young man passed him, he gave the round butt a firm pat. 

Throwing a sultry look over his shoulder, Blair led the way down the hall, swinging his hips a little more than was necessary. He grinned as a muted curse reached his ears. All lecherous thoughts fled, however, as he pushed open the swinging door. "That smells _so_ fantastic!" 

In the process of setting two, filled-to-the-rim coffee mugs on the square wooden table, Beth looked up with a wide smile. "I'll take that as a compliment, but I know just how undemanding a hungry young man can be! Sit down." Returning to the stove, she began ladling large amounts of the savory soup into ceramic bowls. After placing the bowls in front of the two men, she then brought over a cutting board full of fresh-baked bread. "It's a good thing I did my baking last night." 

Swallowing a mouthful of the hot soup, Ellison smiled as she sat down opposite him and picked up her own mug of coffee. "While it's true that he..." nodding his head in Sandburg's direction, "...will eat some of the weirdest food known to mankind, I'm a bit more particular. This is great and we're really grateful you let us in. I'm sorry we're putting you to such trouble." 

Beth gave an unladylike snort. "Tush!" Waving aside the apology, she said, "I know the times have changed, but I'm too old and set in my ways to change with them." Brown eyes twinkled as she added, "Rest assured, though, that I'm not senile. You might not have noticed, but I keep a thirty ought six fully loaded and sitting beside the door. If I hadn't liked the way you looked, you would never have gotten a foot over the threshold." 

Sandburg grinned at his nonplused partner. As cold, wet, and tired as they'd been on arrival, it really wasn't all that surprising that Jim had missed seeing the gun. Reaching out to pick up a piece of bread, his glance fell on the old-fashioned clock ticking quietly on the wall above the stove. "Whoa, look at that, Jim; it's only two o'clock! I thought it was much later." 

"You only thought that, Chief, because the storm's made it so dark." 

"This is nothing," stated Beth, getting up to retrieve the coffee pot. "In the spring of 1948, the storms were so bad, the entire Northwest didn't see the sun for almost three weeks." She gave a small laugh and shook her head as she refilled their mugs. "I believe it was 'The Seattle Clarion' which printed specific instructions on how to build your own Ark. Oh, the shriek of outrage and panic that caused!" Taking her seat, she explained, "The church leaders said it was blaphemous to joke about such a thing, but thousands of people believed it really was the end of the world and rushed about chopping down every tree they could find." 

Catching Blair's sideways glance and correctly interpreting the gleam in the sparkling eyes, Ellison said smartly, "Contrary to what you're thinking there, Chief, that was way before my time." 

Well knowing his lover's age, but not above teasing him about his greater years, Blair just smirked and finished his soup. 

Beth gave a dramatic sigh and reached over to pat Ellison's hand sympathetically. "Not old enough yet to have learned his numbers, I take it." 

Luckily for everyone seated at the table, Sandburg had already swallowed or the soup would have been sprayed everywhere as he choked at that sally. Ellison reached over and helpfully patted the younger man on the back. "I've tried and I've tried," he confided mournfully to Beth, mouth twitching as he vainly attempted to hide his laughter. "I keep hoping that one of these days he'll catch on." 

Ignoring the outraged glare directed impartially at both of them, Beth encouraged, "Don't give up, Jim; sometimes it just takes a little longer." 

"Oh, man," moaned Sandburg. "I'm having lunch with a couple of comedians!" 

"Abbott and Costello," acknowledged Ellison, clinking coffee mugs with Beth. 

The older woman shook her head. "Laurel and Hardy." 

"That is so retro!" protested the grad student. "Can't we at least use references from the latter half of this century?" The insulted facade was marred by a sudden huge yawn. "Sorry about that," said Blair, embarrassed. "Didn't get much sleep last night." 

"Wasn't just last night," mumbled Ellison, a slight frown in the cornflower blue eyes. 

Rising, Sandburg began collecting the dirty dishes. "We were helping out on a really rough case in Portland," he informed their hostess, knowing the older woman was curious but too polite to ask. "Very intense, you know." He placed the dishes in the sink. Turning back, he saw Ellison was still frowning at him. "Lighten up, man. I'm fine. You're just as tired and you know it." He directed a beam at Beth. "Why don't you go rest and let us clean up in here? It's the least we can do." 

Edges curling under the impact of that smile, Beth was slow to stand. "Well, if you insist," she said weakly. Gathering her composure, she declared, "While you're doing that, I'll go open a bedroom so you two can catch a nap." 

"You don't have to do that," objected Ellison and Sandburg in unison. Shaking his head at the unintentional chorus, the cop grinned sheepishly, "We've already been trouble enough." 

"Nonsense," denied Beth tartly. "Any fool can see you're both exhausted and it's not as if there is anything else to do around here. The phone lines are down again due to the storm, so is the TV antenna, and the static is so bad on the radio, I can barely pick up the county seat fifteen miles away. So, unless you wish to sit around and help me knit my afghan..." Chuckling at the appalled looks on their faces, she said decisively, "I guess that's settled. Once you've finished, come upstairs--it'll be the first door to your left just off the first landing." She hurried out. Exchanging another sheepish grin, the two men got down to work. 

Accustomed as they were to working together, it didn't take them long to wash and dry the dishes, and tidy the kitchen. Fifteen minutes after Beth had left, Ellison was manfully swallowing a gargantuan yawn as he followed Blair down the hall and up the gently curving staircase. A nap would be nice, he admitted silently. Hardened cop though he was, this last case had even given _him_ nightmares, though his sleep hadn't been as troubled as Blair's. He felt a slight twinge of guilt; Simon would start worrying when they were overdue but there wasn't anything they could do about that now. Giving a mental shrug, Ellison refocused in time to avoid slamming into Sandburg, who had come to an abrupt halt just inside the door of the bedroom allotted to them. "Hey, Chief," he began, "what's wrong...?" He got a good look at the room and colored furiously. Beside him, the heat fairly poured off Blair. 

Beth straightened from where she was plumping pillows on the king-size bed. Seeing her guests' discomfort, she sighed and joked, "My goodness, I didn't think young people these days even knew how to blush!" 

"B-But how..." stammered Sanddburg, refusing to look at his lover. For his part, he wasn't that upset that she had somehow guessed but he panicked, worried how his straight-laced, privacy-loving partner would handle it. He had left the matter of whom, if anyone, was to know about their relationship to Ellison. Raised in a more liberal environment than his lover (Naomi had just smiled when he'd informed her of his bisexuality. "That's nice, sweetie. Grow from love.), Blair hadn't cared who knew. But he hadn't been too surprised that Jim had wanted it kept a secret. 

"How did I know?" Beth smiled. "I may be old, but there isn't much wrong with my eyes, young man! The sparks fairly fly whenever you two look at each other. It's very romantic." 

"Oh." Struggling to regain his usual aplomb, Ellison slowly moved away from the door. "Sorry." 

It was Beth's turn to frown. "Sorry? About what, pray tell? That you're in love?" A strange look came over the aged face as she went on gently, "Love is nothing to be ashamed of, gentlemen. There's so little of it in this world that it should always be nurtured and encouraged. It is the greatest treasure one can have; without it, there is truly nothing." A distant look of pain and sadness was in the brown eyes as she walked past the stunned lovers. "Have a good rest." The door closed behind her. 

There was several minutes of silence before a very tentative "Jim?" broke the stillness. Busily inspecting the heavy wooden furniture with an approving eye, Ellison answered with an absent-minded, "Huh?" Boy, they don't make furniture like this anymore, he admired. Just look at this highboy! He ran a hand lightly over the highly-polished veneer. You'll still be able to use this when trips to Mars are a dime a dozen. 

"I'm sorry." 

Seconds later, the odd note in the husky voice penetrated his distraction and Ellison swung around. Bewildered, he took in the downbent eyes and pale face; unconsciously focusing on his lover, he found the familiar heartbeat much faster than normal. "What is it, Chief?" he asked, concerned. Crossing the room in two, long strides, he grabbed the wide shoulders. "What's wrong?" 

Afraid to raise his head and see the anger in Jim's eyes, Blair kept his eyes down. "I'm so sorry, man. I guess I just wasn't thinking." 

"Hey." The older man's voice was as rich as dark chocolate. A large hand slipped gently into the chestnut curls, thumb rubbing soothingly against the soft skin behind Blair's left ear. Using his free hand Ellison raised the downcast face so he could gaze into troubled blue eyes. "It's okay," he reassured gently. "Just tell me what you think is your fault." 

Blair was confused; Jim wasn't acting like he was upset and there was no anger in the softly smiling eyes. "Beth knowing about us," he clarified hesitantly. "I mean, you don't even want Simon and Joel to know about us, and they're your best friends. Now, I screw up and let this complete stranger know you're sleeping with me." He bit his lip, and tried to hold the other man's steady gaze. "I really didn't mean to do it, Jim." 

"Blair, listen to me. You haven't done anything wrong." Ellison knew it was the exhaustion and stress from the latest case making Blair overreact. Now, he just had to get his lover to see that. "Remember what Beth said? About us looking at each other?" Sandburg gave an abbreviated nod. "Well, doesn't that make it just as much my fault that she figured us out? You're a walking wet dream wrapped in that robe that matches those beautiful eyes of yours, and I don't think I've been any too subtle about wanting to peel you out of it." 

Nearly crying at seeing all the love in the world reflected in summer sky eyes, Blair leaned in and claimed the sensuous mouth for his own. Surfacing only when breathing became a must, he gave a rueful shrug, saying, "Guess I made a mountain out of that molehill, huh?" 

One corner of the long mouth twitched upward. "Yeah, you did, but you're still wiped," murmured Ellison against Blair's temple. He kissed the soft skin before continuing, "Once you get some decent sleep, everything will be back in perspective. So, into bed with you." Grasping one capable hand, he pulled the smaller man over to the bed. "Before we get in, though..." Unable to resist the lure of that perfect mouth, it was several minutes before Jim was able to finish his sentence. "...we need to get a couple of things clear." He ran a thumb over the kiss-swollen lips, saying sternly, "Number one: I am not _sleeping_ with you--I am _loving_ with you. Catch the difference?" 

Shamefaced, Blair nodded. 

"Good. Number two: I don't know where you got the idea that I wanted our relationship to remain a secret. True, I don't think we need to take out an announcement in the papers because our private lives are nobody's business but ours, but I am not ashamed that I love you. For your information, I told Joel about us that first day, and then I spent the next twenty minutes talking him out of buying us a wedding present. As for Simon..." Smiling at the dismayed look on the expressive face, Ellison said wryly, "I didn't even have to open my mouth. He took one look at me that morning, called me into his office, shook my hand in congratulation, and then pointed me to the door, growling that maybe now he would get some decent work out of the both of us." 

"B-But...!" A faint flush high on his cheekbones, Blair stared at his partner, aghast. "I thought they didn't know! I mean, neither one's treated me any differently." 

"They wouldn't, now would they?" Easing the robe off the lithe form, Jim gently pushed his lover into the inviting bed. "They're your friends, Chief; why would you think they'd treat you any different?" Shurgging out of his own robe as he walked around the bed, he hung it on a bedpost before crawling in. Automatically compensating for the weight as Sandburg found his favorite in-bed position--lying half on top of Jim--the cop muttered, "In fact... Although I know Simon and Joel would never say a word about it, I get the funniest feeling we're not exactly a secret. Last month, when you caught that bad cold? Brown spent two days lecturing me about taking better care of you, and it was Rafe who insisted you try that herbal tea remedy. He said it was his mother's and that it always worked." 

"Oh, my god," said Blair hollowly, beyond shock by this time. 

"Yeah," agreed Ellison, reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp. "That's exactly what I said." 

* * *

Rousing slowly, Ellison blinked several times in disorientation before remembering where he was and why. He gave a careful stretch, mindful of the burden resting trustingly on his chest. Sandburg made a sound of protest as his mattress moved. Grinning to himself, Ellison kissed the top of the dark head and ran a hand in soothing circles across the smooth back. A sharp gust of wind shook the window pane and he tilted his head, listening. He fretted for a moment about his beloved truck, sitting abandoned beside the highway then, giving himself a mental shake, lectured sternly, It's broken down and won't start. Besides, people only steal new vehicles--not 1969 Ford trucks. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Unless...with all this damn rain...a mud slide... 

Just as that welcome thought formed, the man in his arms tensed, moaning. Jolted out of his gloomy thoughts, Ellison was stunned to find Sandburg icy cold and clammy with sweat. Fearing that Blair was having another nightmare about their last case, he tightened his grip, prepared to gently wake the younger man. Before he could do so, however, Sandburg suddenly bolted upright, screaming his lover's name. 

Icicles forming in his blood at the pain and horror in the raw voice, Jim shook off his momentary paralysis and grabbed Sandburg's shoulders. "Blair, wake up! It's all right!" Worriedly taking in the blanched face and unseeing eyes, he gave the bony shoulders a firm shake. "Chief! C'mon, baby, wake up--it's all right. I'm right here. Blair!" Just as Ellison was about to give him another shake, the terrified blue eyes blinked once, twice, and then focused on the cop's concerned face. 

"Jim!" Voice cracking, Blair threw himself at Ellison and hung on for dear life. Winded from the impact, the older man hid a wince as his ribs creaked (Blair was stronger than he looked), and returned the feverish embrace. He gently rocked them both, all the while murmuring soothing nonsense. 

Several minutes later, when the shudders racking the compact body had eased, Ellison commented quietly, "That was a bad one. Reynolds again?" naming the serial rapist/cannibal from the Portland case. 

"N-No." Drawing an unsteady breath, Blair refused to relinquish his stranglehold. "That wouldn't have been so bad." 

"Even worse, huh?" Ellison brought his partner with him as he laid back against the pillows. Reaching up, he stroked sweat-stained curls away from the pale face. "That nightmare must've been a doozy," he prompted in a low voice. 

"Oh, man!" Quivering muscles easing under the constant, soothing caresses, Sandburg muttered into the strong neck, "I have never been so terrified in my life." 

"Tell me about it." 

"It was so weird...disjointed..." Forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths, Sandburg loosened his grip enough so he could look up into loving eyes. "It...it was like I was there, but wasn't there." He went on at the slight nod of encouragement. "We were in this cold, drafty, dim kind of place. I couldn't see any walls or anything, but I think there must've been candles or torches, 'cause the light kept dancing about. You were hiding behind some boxes--or crates, or something--and there were all these men around. I couldn't see what they were doing. Somebody shouted and when I looked over, two guys had grabbed you and were pulling you out into the middle of the room." 

Stiffening at the memory, Blair ground out, "This guy was there, maybe he was the leader, but he just laughed. I couldn't really see him, his face was all hazy, just that he had blond hair and was pretty tall. Everyone was shouting and arguing, then...that guy walks over to you and...and starts feeling you up, kissing you!" There was reminiscent jealousy in the husky voice. "Somebody said something about having to hurry, so this guy pulls out this gun and...and..." Hiding his face agains't Ellison's chest, Blair started to shake. "It was like I was paralyzed--I couldn't move...couldn't speak... That bastard killed you! I couldn't stop him! I couldn't!" 

"Hey, hey," admonished Ellison softly, tightening his grip on the trembling body. "It was just a dream, remember? I'm right here," he reminded the younger man tenderly, "and I'm just fine. It was all just a bad dream." 

"I-I know. It just seemed so real." 

The ensuing silence was broken by a soft knock on the door. Reluctantly moving away from Ellison, Blair called out, "Yeah?" 

"Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might like to know your clothes are dry," Beth said through the door. "I'll just leave them on the table in the hall for you." There was a rustling sound, then silence. 

Sighing, Blair pulled himself upright and stretched. "What time is it?" 

"Nearly six," Jim informed him after a glance at his watch. Getting out of bed, he pulled on his robe. "We've been asleep for almost four hours." Holding the robe closed, he cautiously opened the door a crack. Seeing their hostess was nowhere in sight, he ventured out a few steps and hurriedly grabbed the stack of neatly folded clothes before retreating, frowning just a little, back into the bedroom. He must've been concentrating more on Blair than he'd thought; he'd been completely unaware that Beth had been outside in the hallway. 

"Man, I still feel like I could sleep for a week." Sandburg's voice issued from the adjoining bathroom. There was the sound of the toilet flushing, then water runnning, and the grad student ambled out, clutching his robe tight against the storm-chill. As Ellison took the opportunity to empty his bladder, Blair quickly dressed. A sudden boom of thunder caused him to jump slightly and he looked up as Jim came back into the room. "Doesn't sound as though the storm is dying out, does it?" he offered. Leaning against the highboy, he watched his lover dress with possessive eyes. He gave an inward sigh as the muscled form disappeared beneath discreet layers of cloth. It's a downright sin, he thought hazily, to put clothes on that body at all. 

Glancing over as he sat down to put on his shoes and socks, Ellison had no trouble interpreting the gleam in the wide eyes. He shook his head, saying, "I'll go nudist when you do, Chief." 

"One of these days, I just might take you up on that." A wicked look in his eye, Sandburg sauntered over. Placing a long-fingered hand on either side of the uptilted face, he leaned down to capture the softly smiling mouth. "Mmm, yeah," he groaned approvingly as strong arms came around his waist, pulling him in between the corded thighs. Several pleasurable minutes passed before the lovers were recalled to themselves by the sound of cold rain striking against the window glass. 

"Well, we're definitely going to be here all night," observed Blair, rearranging his shirts which, thanks to Ellison's rearguard actions, had somehow ended bunched up under his arms. 

"Yeah," agreed the cop. Pulling his own clothing straight, he ran a hand over his short brown hair to force it to lay down again. Even though there wasn't that much left anymore, Blair always managed to thoroughly muss it. "C'mon, Chief, let's go see if there's anything Beth needs to have done." 

* * *

Shaking her gray head, Beth declared that everything that could be done had been done; the old house was as storm-proof as humanly possible. If they wouldn't mind, though, she added somewhat hesitantly, in the morning, could they...? Both men agreed instantly, knowing how hard it must be for the elderly woman to check the property for storm damage. That delicated topic decided, Beth had gone on to produce a delight of fish and rice casserole that had Sandburg begging for the recipe. Banishing her once more from the kitchen, the two men had cleaned up and made coffee. Trailing behind Blair into the cheery, brightly lit parlor, Ellison handed Beth her mug before he sank into a comfortable chair beside the roaring fire. Sandburg, in his own unique way, collapsed onto the floor, sitting tailor-fashion between his lover and the fireplace. Shaking his head over him, Ellison sipped his coffee, wondering for the thousandth time why someone who hated the cold as much as Blair would chose to attend an university in the state of Washington. 

A loud roll of thunder brought him out of his thoughts. "That really is some storm," he remarked. Looking around the room, he smiled and added, "I'm surprised your power hasn't gone out yet." 

Setting her mug down, Beth answered, "It did, around noon." Chuckling at the puzzled look on his face, she said, "There's a portable generator in the garden shed out back. I'd only gotten dried off and changed when you two washed up at my door. Took me forever to get the dang thing started up!" 

"Not working right?" asked Blair, glancing up at Ellison. "Do you want us to look at it?" 

Beth laughed, shaking her head. "The trouble was with me. For every two steps I took toward the silly thing, the wind knocked me back four! Thought I was never going to get there." 

"Tell me about it," agreed Sandburg fervently. "It must be a real typhoon out there. A couple of miles from your place, a gust knocked me right off my feet. If Jim hadn't been there, I don't think I could've gotten back up." 

"Oh?" An abstracted look on her face, Beth turned to gaze out the window, muttering sotto voce, "I didn't realize it was _that_ bad..." Shaking her head, she turned back, a concerned look in the brown eyes. "It knocked you over, you say? Are you all right, Blair?" 

"Banged his right knee up," put in Ellison before the younger man could speak. Squelching the sudden uneasiness that filled his gut, he grinned and reached out, tousling the long chestnut curls near his knee. "It's only bruised, though," he assured the worried woman, "takes more than that to keep Sandburg down." 

"Huh!" snarled the anthropologist. Finishing his coffee, he studied his lover out of the corner of his eye. It might not be obvious to casual observers, but an experienced Ellison watcher like himself could easily read the signs--something was bothering Jim. To him, there didn't seem to be anything abnormal in the cozy room, but something was responsible for the clenched jaw and shuttered eyes. Knowing better than to question him in front of a stranger, Blair glanced over at Beth...and blinked, several times. It's the stress, you idiot! he scolded himself dazedly. You've really got to stop letting these weird cases get to you; you're starting to hallucinate! Sandburg could find no other reason for what his eyes insisted he was seeing: Beth's petite form wavering and shimmering, almost fading out entirely... For a moment, he could almost _see_ a young, pretty, dark-haired girl sitting in the chair. Shaking his head, he blinked again, slowly, and when he opened his eyes, Beth was staring at him, her eyes seeming to glow. 

Shuddering from the sudden chill, Sandburg shot a glance at his partner. "Jim!" He bounced to his knees, instantly taking in the pale, blank face and glazed eyes. Oh, shit, he's zoned! But on what? Taking deep breaths to calm his furiously beating heart, he laid a shaking hand on the barely moving chest, another on a muscled forearm, and forced himself to speak clearly and quietly. "Come back, Jim. Hear my voice and follow it. Just follow it back, Jim." Gratified when the broad chest beneath his hand inhaled sharply, Blair urged soothingly, "That's right, Jim. Take a deep breath; now another. That's it." 

The clear blue eyes blinked once before focusing on him. "You okay, man?" 

"I'm fine, Chief." Ellison took another deep breath, trying to clear his head. Due to the residual effects of the zone-out, it was several seconds before he realized that the rapid thumping echoing in his ears was the familiar heartbeat of the man kneeling beside him. "Are you all right?" he demanded, scanning his companion from toes to curly crown to find the reason for the agitation. Blair had been through too many of these episodes with him; the zone-out shouldn't have left him this upset and shaking. Unless... Ellison inwardly shook his head: No, the zone hadn't been a lengthy one. He knew that instinctively. "Blair?" 

"Sorry, Jim." Sandburg took a deep breath of his own, pushing his hair behind one ear. "Yeah, everything's cool." He gave a half-grin. 

"Umm." Not convinced, Ellison stared at his lover. When Blair wouldn't meet his eyes, he knew something had seriously spooked the anthropologist. Attempting to fathom the reason for Blair's sudden anxiety, the cop was considerably startled when a soft voice queried, "Are you all right, Jim? Is something wrong?" 

Whipping his head around, Ellison met Beth's warm gaze. The elderly woman was staring at them, a concerned frown on her face. Suddenly remembering _why_ he had zoned, he gathered his scattered wits together. "No, nothing's wrong." He gave her a strained smile, peripherally noting the way Blair's hands tightened their grip on his forearm and shirt. "Guess I must be more tired than I thought." He felt Blair jump when sudden burst of thunder and rain rattled the house. Laying a hand over the slender fingers cluching his arm, he joked, "Hope you've got lots of homeowner's insurance." 

Giving him a shrewd look, Beth accepted the change of subject. "Don't you worry about this old place. Papa built this house when he and Mama married; it's weathered worse than this." 

The soft chiming of the grandfather's clock in the corner broke the awkward silence. "My goodness," said Beth, standing and laying aside the afghan in her lap. "Ten o'clock already. Where does the time go?" Turning back to her guests, she announced, "It's time for this old woman to hit the hay, but you boys stay up as long as you want. Just don't forget to bank the fire when you go to bed." 

Startled once more (How had it gotten so late without him being aware of it?), and seeing that Blair was maintaining his silence and refusing to look at their hostess, Ellison answered smoothly, "No problem. Good night, and thanks again for everything." 

"I told you, it's my pleasure." Pausing in the doorway, Beth's smile became a little wistful as she took in Sandburg's rigid figure. "Good night, Jim, Blair." With that, she was gone. 

Wordlessly, Ellison reached down and bodily lifted his lover over the chair arm and into his lap. Sighing deeply, Sandburg melted against the larger man. Drifting with the simple pleasure of holding the one he loved most, Ellison had almost convinced himself that his tired mind was playing tricks on him, when Blair spoke up. "Let's get out of here, Jim. Tonight. Now." 

"What?" Shocked, Jim raised his head from where it had been resting on abundant curls. Frowning, he protested, "What's the matter with you, Chief? It's freezing out there. Not to mention raining cats and dogs, in case you've forgotten!" 

"I know." Sandburg shifted restlessly, then stilled when Ellison tightened his arms. "We could go back to the truck and spend the night there. Jim, please." Pulling away slightly, he pleaded, "I don't care if I get soaked again, or how cold it is. I just want to get out of here." 

Taking in the wide, frantic blue eyes, Ellison laid a palm alongside a cold cheek. "You're really scared, aren't you, baby?" he asked softly. "Why?" 

Relaxing slightly when he realized the Sentinel was not going to mock, Blair covered the large hand on his face with one of his own, admitting honestly, "Yeah, I am. I don't know why, but I am. I'm getting really bad vibes from this place, Jim. Something awful's going to happen--I just know it." 

Prepared to dismiss Blair's dread as the lingering effects of stress, tiredness, and his nightmare, Ellison was brought up short when the voice in his brain jeered Oh, sure, and let's not forget how you zoned there, Jimmy boy! 

As though sensing his lover's confusion, Blair asked abruptly, "What made you zone, Jim?" Ellison's sudden rigidity and veiled eyes told him he was on to something. Determined to get the truth out of the cop, Sandburg let several tense moments go by. Just as he was opening his mouth to ask again, Ellison mumbled, "I couldn't find her." 

"What?" 

"I couldn't find her, Chief...sense her." Raising downcast eyes, he stared into the teal irises so close. "I tried everything I could think of--pulse respiration, feeling for body heat, you name it. But it was as if Beth wasn't even there. I thought the reason I didn't hear her outside our room earlier was because of the storm and that I was concerned about you, so I'd thought I'd try again. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. It's impossible." 

"Oh, man!" Shivering anew, Blair begged. "Let's get out of here, Jim! Now." 

Unnerved by the incipient hysteria he saw in Sandburg's eyes, Ellison demanded harshly, "What's wrong, Chief? What aren't you telling me?" 

Trembling violently, Sandburg could barely get the words out. "W-When you zoned, man--it, it was like Beth...like she just _disappeared_! Just phased out, or something! I-I thought I saw a young girl there. T-Then, it was Beth again, only--I swear to God--her eyes were glowing!" 

Rendered completely speechless for the first time in his life, Jim sait there an unknown length of time, mind tumbling furiously. Blair's frantic calling of his name finally reached him, causing him to start slightly. "No. No, I'm sorry, Sandburg, but..." Voice harsh and thick, he shook his head heavily. Clearing his throat, he went on in a more normal tone, "I'm sorry, Chief, but I just can't buy into that. You're tired and stressed, and thought you saw something that wasn't there." 

"Damn it to hell!" Wrenching himself furiously out of Ellison's restraining arms, Sandburg's momentum carried him halfway across the room. "Don't take that patronizing tone of voice with me, James Ellison! After all we've been through in the last three years, do you really believe I'd pick _now_ to start hallucinating?" He ran trembling hands through his hair. "Just once--just _once_ \--I wish you'd listen to something I say without giving me that condescending, big brother, seen-that-done-that attitude! I'm not a child, and I know what I saw!" 

Shell-shocked by the concussive wave of fury which battered against him, Jim could only stare helplessly at his enraged lover. 

Breathing heavily, Blair made a disgusted sound deep in his throat at Ellison's continued silence. Throwing up his hands, he marched over to the large picture window, and stared out into the storm-tossed darkness. 

At his side without knowing how he got there, Ellison laid a hesitant hand on the rigid back. "Blair?" 

Fighting the urge to shrug off the hand, Sandburg closed his eyes and forced himself to use a calming mantra. Opening his eyes several minutes later, he exhaled sharply saying, "All right, I'm crazy. I admit it--I was hallucinating due to lack of sleep! Now, can we please just get the hell out of here?" He couldn't shake the pervasive feeling of impending danger and, mad at Jim or not, he needed to have his lover out of the house _right this minute_. 

"No!" 

Abruptly enfolded in demanding arms, Blair had started to lose his temper again when the words hissed into his left ear begin to penetrate his brain. 

"You are _not_ crazy" refuted Ellison hotly, "and you _don't_ hallucinate! You have one of the most logical and intelligent brains ever created, and I'm sorry if it seemed like I was patronizing you. I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of you, and what you've accomplished." 

Blinking back sudden tears, Sandburg shivered as the penitent lips found that certain place on his neck. "Oh, Jim," he whispered, leaning back against the larger man. "I'm sorry, too. I can't believe I lost my temper that way. It's just that..." He shrugged helplessly. "Something bad is going to happen here, Jim; I can feel it in my bones. Please, I want us to leave." 

"Then we will," declared Ellison. Glancing over at the grandfather's clock as it gave a single, soft chime, he stated, "Let's get our jackets and go before it gets any later. It's already eleven-thirty." Increasingly unnerved at the way he kept losing time, he pressed his hand into the small of Sandburg's back, gently ushering his Guide out into the hallway. Hurriedly bundling the anthropolgist into his coat, Ellison had his hand on the door knob when he stopped, head tilting to one side. 

All too familiar with the sight of an intently listening Sentinel, Blair felt his heart congeal in his throat. "Jim? C'mon, man." He tugged uselessly at a muscled arm. "Let's go." 

"Just a minute, Chief," replied Ellison absently. Listening for several more moments, he turned narrowed eyes to his partner. "I hear voices...men's voices." 

"Oh, god!" breathed Sandburg, skin prickling with foreboding. "Let's get out of here now, Jim!" He tugged harder. "Quickly!" 

Catching on to the reason behind Sandburg's sudden increase in anxiety, Jim smiled reassuringly. "I don't pretend to understand what's been going on here tonight, Chief, but there's nothing vaguely supernatural about these guys. If I listen real close, I can hear their heartbeats. They're muffled, like the voices, but most definitely there." 

Only marginally happier, Blair watched with unconcealed dismay as Jim walked slowly back down the hallway, pausing to listen every few feet. Halfway down, Ellison stopped, a bewildered expression on his face. "They're here, but I can't place where..." He went a few more feet. "As stupid as it sounds, I think the voices are coming from behind the wall." Finding himself in front of a door, the cop opened it cautiously, to discover a linen cupboard. Stepping into it, he pulled up short, exclaiming softly, "Hey, I feel a cold draft!" Perusing the inner wall, he mused, "But from where...?" 

Stepping into the doorway, Sandburg saw his partner run light hands over the walls. Oh, Jim, he mourned, why did you have to hear something _now_? I almost had us safely out of this madhouse! Jolted out of his misery at an abrupt squeal, Blair let out a yelp and flinched. 

"Sorry, Chief; didn't mean to scare you." The apology was perfunctory, however, for Ellison wore a wide grin. "Look what I found!" 

Glaring at the older man, Sandburg took a steadying breath and looked. "Whoa!" he burst out, mounting fear momentarily dispelled. "This is so passe!" Coming up next to his lover, he surveyed the section of back wall which had pushed inward several feet. Shaking his head in disbelief, he declared, "I mean, nobody does secret panels anymore, man! They went out in the Fifties along with radiation-induced giant monsters and Count Dracula." 

"Passe or not, here it is." Ellison didn't try to hide the smug grin on his face. Leaning his weight against the door, he managed to push it open a few more feet. "Somehow, I don't think this door is any too 'secret', either," he said tartly. "I can hear those voices a lot clearer now; they're coming from below." He stopped for a minute at the top of the stone staircase and glanced down. "Fresh tracks in the dust and I can smell kerosene burning. Stay here, Chief, while I scope it out." With that, he cautiously started down the stairs. 

His returning dread nearly swamping him, Blair scuttled after the cop. "No way, man!" he denied hastily, gingerly edging down the steep stairs. "You are _not_ leaving me alone up here in Dracula's Castle! Have you forgotten what always happened to the sidekick?" 

A muffled snort and a terse, whispered, "Then stay behind me, damn it, and be careful!" was thrown over one broad shoulder before Ellison started easing down the stairs again. 

Even though the detective couldn't see it, Sandburg nodded his agreement. This time he intended to do exactly what he was told--he was going to be excessively careful and not let Jim out of his sight for a nanosecond. He was well aware that, although Jim had given in and agreed to leave 'The Smuggler's Cove', the big man had not completely accepted his lover's fears. Never mind the fact that Ellison was unable to detect any physical trace of the elderly woman they had spent most of the day with; to his analytical mind, that only meant that somehow either the storm was interfering, or that he was tired to the point his hyperactive senses were malfunctioning. Since Jim didn't take Blair's worries seriously, he wouldn't be watching out for the unusual or bizarre. That duty fell to Blair and he was grimly determined not to fall down on the job. A remnant of his earlier nightmare flitted through his brain and he swallowed, hard. Nothing was going to happen to his Jim, Blair promised himself implacably; not without going through him first. 

* * *

Some ten minutes later, the sharp edge of his panic was still slicing brutally into his gut, and he was starting to become a little nauseated from it. It had taken what seemed like forever to reach the bottom of the ancient stairs, and when they had done so, Blair hadn't needed sentinel hearing to realize how close to the ocean they were. The bass crescendo of wind-driven waves hurtling themselves against the rocky base of the cliff was at a decibel level even _he_ found slightly uncomfortable. Glancing over at his partner, he found the smooth forehead deeply furrowed. 

"Dial turned down as low as you can get it?" he asked, laying a hand on Ellison's arm. 

"No," replied the cop sharply. He frowned, trying to concentrate through the pounding in his temples. "I don't want to turn it so low I can't hear what's ahead." 

Shivering slightly from the chilly wind blasting through the damp tunnel, Sandburg glanced around, his sense of oncoming doom growing by leaps and bounds. He pressed closer to his lover, unable to shake his feeling of deja vu. There was something about the way the faint light, filtering down the rocky corridor from ahead, tickled at his subconscious, nagged at him. But it wasn't until they had stealthily rounded a slight bend to where the light from a dozen kerosene lanterns danced and flickered off the stone walls, that the truth hit him like a pile driver. Almost drowning under the rushing onslaught of memory, Blair clutched at the man in front of him, desperately trying to stay on his feet. 

Feeling the younger man sway, Ellison whirled and grabbed him. "Chief!" he hissed. "What is it?" 

Attempting to order his hysterically scattering thoughts, Blair fought the numbing paralysis that had settled over him. He had to make Jim understand--he had to keep him safe... On the third try, he finally got his mouth and tongue in working condition. "T-This is it!" he gasped. "This is the place! We've got to get out of here, Jim; we've got to get out of here _now_." 

"Get out?" Ellison was totally lost. "This is what place?" Sandburg was backing up, pulling the larger man with him. Firmly planting both feet, Jim resisted the insistent tugging. "Blair, what is it?" 

"The place from my dream!" whispered Blair, giving another frantic, though useless, tug. Oh, why doesn't he understand!? "We've got to get out of here, man! He's going to kill you!" 

"Shh, Chief...it's all right; it's all right." Pulling the younger man into a shallow depression in the wall, Ellison gave silent thanks that the storm was still raging furiously. With the racket the wind and waves were kicking up, there was no way anyone else could have heard Sandburg's outburst. Cupping the round face in both hands, he stared into fear-darkened eyes. "Blair, that was just a dream, remember? Nobody's going to hurt you." Strong, ice-cold hands came up to grip his wrists. "Or me, understand?" 

Standing there, staring into earnest, loving eyes, Blair felt a strange calm descend upon him. Relaxing suddenly, he took a deep breath and then gave a half-grin. So be it. But not without me, my love; he vowed mentally. Never without me. Wither thou goest... "So what's the game plan, then?" He distantly amazed at how steady his voice was. 

Distracted by the sounds and voices coming from the cavern next to them, Ellison allowed himself to be reassured. "We need to get in there and try to see what they're doing," he whispered, edging closer to the cavern opening. "It's a smuggling operation of some sort, but I can't tell what's being moved." He was only catching maybe one word in ten due to the noise of the waves and the continued pounding in his temples. Easing his head around for a quick look, he turned back. "There's only five of them," he announced quietly. "They're packing something into a bunch of suitcases. We can get closer easily; there's several large boulders scattered about." He glanced back to make certain the men were still where they had been. "Follow me and stay low." Holding his breath, Sandburg dashed after him. Easing into a crouch beside his partner, he carefully peered over the top of the concealing boulder. 

Several yards ahead of them, a group of men were busily transferring the contents of a small crate into a nondescript brown suitcase. At their feet were two more suitcases, latched and ready to go. The wavering light from the lanterns made it difficult to see small details, but Blair heard Jim's indrawn breath when one of the workers fumbled and nearly dropped a small, white-colored packet. "Drugs?" he breathed into the nearest ear. 

Ellison gave a short nod. "This cave must open right onto the cove; be real easy to land a small boat there with nobody the wiser," he murmured, watching the drug smugglers intently. Shifting slightly, he indicated the cavern's opening. "Back upstairs." Even if his lover hadn't been present, there was no way he was going to tackle five me. 

For one, soaring moment, Blair thought they had actually made it, then a hand clamped cruelly into his hair, dragging him to his feet. Once upright, his hair was released and the cold, hard nose of a gun was pushed into the back of his neck. Ignoring the shouts caused by their discovery, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Jim was pushed forward by a short, weight-lifter type, the barrel of a revolver pressed tightly against his spine. 

"Good thing Langton and me were a little late getting here, eh, Jeffries?" drawled the thug. "Otherwise these two might have gotten away." 

"You'll get no argument from me," agreed a deep voice from behind the small know of men. A tall, lean, blond man pushed to the front. He surveyed the two prisoners, a small smile on his handsome face. "What have we got here?" 

Jaw muscle clenching, Ellison stared him in the eye, all the while bitterly castigating himself for landing him and Sandburg in this mess. Why the hell didn't I hear those two clowns behind us? I wasn't concentrating that hard on the other guys. The abrupt upsurge of the familiar heartbeat caught his attention and he tore his gaze away from the mocking face in front of him to glance at his partner. So still he might've be carved from stone, Sandburg's face was bleached of all color. Huge eyes, black with absolute terror, were fixed unwaveringly on the blond's face. 

What the hell? Jim frowned inwardly. The last time he'd seen that look was over two and a half years ago when he'd burst into that small room at the top of the warehouse to find Lash hovering over the chained anthropologist. Suddenly, Blair's voice echoed in his head: Couldn't see his face...tall and blond...he killed you! Telling himself not to be so gullible, Jim firmly disregarded the acid curling in his gut. 

Jarred out of introspection by a sudden movement, Ellison could only rage uselessly as the leader reached into the Sentinel's jacket pocket and pulled out his ID as the goon behind him handed over his gun. "So," breathed Jeffries. "Detective James Ellison, Cascade P.D." Voice rising smoothly over the alarmed muttering of his men, he commented, "Little out your jurisdiction, aren't we?" 

"Our truck broke down," Ellison replied in a clip tone. "All we were looking for was shelter out of the storm." 

"And after having found such shelter, dilapidated though it is, you just _accidentally_ stumbled upon the hidden door to this cavern," mocked the drug smuggler. Dilapidated? frowned Jim as Jeffries went on, "Come on, Detective Ellison. Do I really look like such a fool to believe that fantastic story?" 

Ellison smiled grimly. "I guess first impressions can be deceiving." Movement froom the man behind him, then Ellison sagged to his knees, winded and groaning from the vicious punch to his left kidney. Through a red haze, he heard signs of a struggle and a furious voice shouting, "Leave him alone, you bastards!" 

"Blair...don't..." he wheezed, dimly focusing on his raging lover. 

"As fun as this is," said Jeffries thoughtfully. "I really don't have the time." There was a rustling noise; Jim looked up into the barrel of a .38 special. "It's nearly midnight--things to do, people to see; you know how it is." His thumb drew back the hammer. A sudden burst of Arctic chill and wind blasted through the cavern. 

Jim barely had time to register Blair's scream "NOOO!!!" before something slammed into him, tumbling him to the ground. The rank stench of cordite hung heavily in the air. Dazed and winded yet again, it was several moments before he realized he was still alive. It was impossible for Jeffries to have missed at such close range, yet incredibly, he had. Not inclined to debate his good fortune, Ellison kept his eyes closed and listened for any sign of the drug smugglers. I must've been out for a mintue or so; don't hear a thing. Terrified that Jeffries had taken Blair along as a hostage, Jim opened his eyes and, biting back a curse as his back muscles pulled painfully, sat up, reaching down to remove the dead weight lying across his legs. He froze in the act as his brain finally processed what his eyes were telling him. 

"No." It was a soul-deep moan. "Blair. Oh, dear God, no..." A trembling hand gently pushed aside the blood-drenched curls before hesitantly coming to rest on the beloved face. Fighting the growing anguish, Jim forced himself to concentrate, to listen past the thundering roar of his own pulse. Just as he was sinking into bottomless grief, he heard it...much slower and weaker than usual, but present. Careful not to jar the wounded man too much, he drew off his jacket and wrapped it around his lover, then tenderly lifted Blair against his chest, holding the limp head close. Lecturing himself sternly, Don't just sit here, stupid--you've got to get him to a hospital!, Ellison's attention was abruptly caught by a soft chiming, over-loud in the abnormal quiet of the cave. Even the sounds of the wind and waves had vanished. Shocked, he recognized it as the grandfather's clock from Beth's front parlor, striking twelve. As the last tone faded away, a shrieking fury of wind and ice boiled into the cavern, bringing his head up with a jerk. 

He'd been wrong about the drug smugglers. They hadn't left after all. 

Jeffries, standing a little apart from his men, was tossed backward into the wall by the hurricane force of the wind. He was just struggling to his feet when the very air in front of him seemed to shimmer and coalesce, a thin, gray haze growing and bobbing before him. With terrifying abruptness, it snapped out and engulfed him. 

Burying his face in Blair's hair, Jim tried to block out Jeffries' horror-filled screams. Clutching his Guide to him, he listened to the screams growing fainter and fainter until there was only a sickening silence. As the air in the cavern seemed to grow heavier, Ellison unwillingly looked up. The gray haze had vanished, leaving only a faint sparkling in the air. Breath catching in his throat, he watched it move slowly toward him. Movement out of the corner of his eye caused his head to whip around, and he saw another shimmering current of air enter the cavern. It paused for a moment on the threshold then, in the space of a heartbeat, darted across the floor. The two shimmers met in an explosion of hurtful white light. Blinking repeatedly, Ellison thought he heard the faint sound of girlish laughter and joyful tears. 

When his eyes had finally stopped tearing and were able to focus clearly, he looked around the deserted cavern. The haze and shimmering were gone and sometime during the last fantastical few minutes, Jeffries' men had disappeared. At that moment, the cop couldn't have cared less if they had made good their escape. All that concerned him now was the man in his arms and he struggled to his feet, hugging Blair tightly. Stumbling slightly over the uneven ground, he headed for the tunnel and the stone staircase. Jeffries' awkwardly crumpled body didn't even merit a glance. 

At the foot of the stairs, he stopped to draw a deep breath, coughing in the sudden, acrid tang of it. Exhausted, back throbbing viciously, and terrified that his lover was dying, it wasn't until Jim saw the flickering red light and thick fog at the top of the stairs that he realized what was happening. Oh, my god, the place is on fire! For one, long minute he stood there, irresolute--should he go back? But the cavern opened directly onto the cove, and he had no idea if there was a path up the cliffs. The only possible way out was ahead. He pressed Sandburg's bloody face against his shirt, hoping to block out the worst. Setting his jaw, Ellison started up the stairs, coughing more frequently as the smoke grew thicker and blacker. 

By the time he careened through the opening into the hall cupboard, only sheer stubbornness was keeping him on his feet. His lungs burned with a fire all their own; the harsh, panting breaths were completely unable to fill his body's desperate need for oxygen. Each step he took sent a bolt of agony up his spine and into his brain. His vision almost gone due to the heavy smoke and his tear-filled, burning eyes, Ellison misjudged the door into the hall and hit the door frame, hard, with one booted foot. The resulting jar almost caused him to lose his grip on Blair. Fighting not to drop the injured man, he lurched through the door, hitting his back against the far corridor wall. Fireworks went off behind his eyes at the flare of agony, and once more he fought not to drop his lover, frantically trying to stave off the encroaching blackness. 

Sobbing for breath, he stood there a moment, head hanging. Suddenly, the air in the hall seemed to clear a little and he heard Beth's urgent voice, "You can do it, Jim! You can! Hurry, hurry!" 

A fresh influx of strength washed through him, and he straightened. Making sure his hold on the limp body was secure, he staggered down the hallway, his gaze fixed on the door which seemed miles away. With a roar, the flames burst through the kitchen door behind him. Ahead, the fire had run down the oak staircase and were threatening to cut off access to the small foyer. Sweat from the intense heat ran down his face and pooled in his already stinging eyes. 

Just one more step, Ellison, he told himself over and over. Just one more step... Then, the door was there and he was through it, stumbling out into the cool, fresh, still night air. Suddenly, the roar of the flames was very loud and there were other sounds, too--harsh voices shouting back and forth, and the painful wail of a siren. There were hands now, also, pulling at him. Pulling at Blair, and in his shock, he fought those hands with a feverish intensity, refusing to relinquish his lover. 

"For god's sake, mister, he needs help!" A young, male voice broke through the haze of confusion and fear. "Let us take him!" 

Looking up, Jim stared straight into the concerned face of a paramedic. 

* * *

Shifting slightly in the hard plastic chair, Ellison winced as his still-sore back protested the movement. The emergency physician at the small Burke Memorial Hospital in Wind Swept Bay had assured him that the damage was only extensive bruising, painful but not serious. Releasing him so that he could go check on the result's of Sandburg's CT scan, Dr. Moran had advised complete rest for a week, and then no heavy lifting for another two weeks after that. Jim had taken the advice to heart; once Blair had been moved into this private room, the detective had barely budged from the chair at his lover's bedside. For the past three days, his only forays from the room had been for brief trips to the men's room, or when Simon had threatened and bullied him into a meal. 

The Cascade police captain had arrived within hours of receiving Ellison's call. One look at the pale, blank face with its clenched jaw and haunted eyes, and Banks was on the phone, arranging leave time for both Ellison and himself. Completely ignoring Jim's protest that he was fine and that there was no need for the captain to baby-sit him, Simon had vanished just long enough to procure coffee and thick sandwiches. Shoving the food at the distraught cop, Banks had bluntly ordered him to eat, then plopped himself in the other chair in the room. After ensuring that Ellison had eaten every bite and was drinking the coffee, the black man had taken out his ubiquitous cigar and, rolling it between his fingers, demanded, "I know what you told me on the phone, Jim, but I need you to fill in the blanks. What exactly the hell happened?" 

Sighing and rubbing his tired, aching eyes, Ellison had told him the story he had put together after recovering from his astonishing talk with the sheriff. The truck had broken down, he and Sandburg had walked to 'The Smuggler's Cove' for shelter, and while there, he'd heard voices which led them to discover the secret door and the drug smugglers in the cavern below. After Jeffries had died, his gang had escaped and in trying to cover their tracks, had torched the abandoned building. By the time Ellison had managed to carry his wounded partner out of the fire-engulfed house, sheriff's deputies, firefighters, and paramedics were already on the scene. Ellison ended his recital, saying wearily, "That's all I know, Simon." He'd avoided the shrewd brown eyes by concentrating on the still, pale figure lying so quietly in the hospital bed. Sandburg's face was as white as the bandages around his head; the minute rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the steady beeping of the heart monitor were the only indications he still lived. 

"Hmm." Banks regarded his detective for a long moment. "According to Sheriff Whitcomb, Jeffries died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage." Ellison remained silent. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?" 

"I have no idea, sir." Jim shrugged. 

Giving it up as a lost cause for now, Banks nodded at the bed's occupant. "How bad is it?" 

Tightening his grip around Blair's hand, Jim ground out, "Bad enough. The bullet just clipped him, but there's a hairline skull fracture. Dr. Moran says it might be days before he wakes up." 

Simon heard the unspoken 'If he wakes up'... and fixed his friend with a knowing look. "Jim, it was not your fault." 

"Oh, yes, it was, Simon," shot back Ellison in a harsh voice. "He kept telling me he wanted to leave that place, said he could feel it in his guts that something bad was going to happen. I just thought--oh, god, I don't know _what_ I thought!" Momentarily closing his eyes, Jim took a deep breath. "He took that bullet for me, Simon. Jeffries had the gun pointed right at my head and Blair knocked me aside. Christ!" Running a trembling hand over his face, Ellison burst out, "What the _hell_ was he thinking!?" 

"I doubt he was thinking at all, Jim," denied Banks in a grave voice. "I bet he was just acting on instinct; the same as _you_ would have done had the positions been reversed." He pushed himself to his feet and, walking over to the chair, laid a hand on Ellison's shoulder. "Jim, Blair is going to be all right." There was firm conviction in the big man's voice. 

"Why, because he has such a hard head?" Jim tried to lighten the mood. 

Simon, however, wasn't playing. "No," he refuted quietly, "because I just can't believe it will go any other way." He patted Ellison one more time, then turned for the door. "I'll be back in a minute, Jim. Just need to check in with the office." 

"Simon..." As his friend opened the door, Jim whispered, "Thanks. For everything." 

Giving him an encouraging wink, Simon left. 

* * *

That little interlude had occurred over two and a half days ago and Jim sighed, reflecting back on it. He was alone with Blair now, Simon having gone back to his motel room several hours ago to catch some much needed sleep. Tilting his head back against the wall, Jim closed his eyes, willing his exhausted mind to stop playing the shattering scene in the cavern over and over. I just need to see him awake, he thought raggedly. That's not too much to ask, is it? 

Suddenly feeling himself under scrutiny, he snapped open his eyes and, turning his head, found himself being watched by a pair of extremely groggy blue eyes. "Blair?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe. 

"You look like hell." Sandburg's voice was a harsh rasp. "When was the last time you got some sleep, man?" 

Unable to hold back his choke of relief, Jim leaned over and tenderly kissed a pale cheek. Seeing that Blair's eyelids were drooping again already, Jim murmured, "Don't you worry about me, Chief." 

"Jim..." Blair was plainly fighting his lassitude. "Go get some sleep, man. Promise me." The translucent eyelids were staying closed for longer periods of time. 

"Shh, now," soothed Ellison, rubbing a gentle finger along one cheek. "Just go to sleep there, baby; everything will be better when you wake up." He smiled as he felt Blair relax into slumber. "Yeah, that's it." 

A faint noise caught his attention, and he turned to find Banks at the door, a wide beam nearly splitting his face. "Well, now," the captain said happily. "That's more like it." Striding over, he reached down and grabbed a handful of Jim's collar, bodily hauling the other man to his feet. "C'mon, Jim, don't fight me on this one." 

"W-What the...!?" sputtered Ellison, trying to shake the grip on his jacket, but Banks was unstoppable. With another sharp jerk, he had the big detective out of the hospital room and in the hallway. 

"We need to tell the nurses that Sandburg woke up, and you know they're going to want to exmaine him from head to toe, and inside out." Banks said all this as he was dragging Jim down the hallway. "They're gong to need a little privacy to do that. Besides," Simon finally halted and fixed Ellison with a gimlet eye. "you've had your orders, remember? Get some sleep. Don't make me tell the kid you ignored him." 

"Simon, that's blackmail." The words were harsh, but there was a spark of laughter in the tired blue eyes. 

"Damn right." Banks nodded defiantly. "So, what's it to be...?" He stood there, an exasperated look on his face. 

Giving a sudden laugh, Ellison put his hand on the captain's back and gave a small push to get him started again. "I know when I'm beaten." 

* * *

Sighing in satisfaction, Sandburg eased himself down onto the couch and carefully laid his throbbing head against the back of it. Dr. Moran had told him to expect the headaches to last up to another month, but if they increased in severity or lasted longer, then he was to see his doctor immediately. Right now, the thumping in his head was making him slightly sick to his stomach, but he wasn't too worried about it. The hour and a half flight into Cascade after being released that morning from the hospital was the most strenuous thing he'd done in the last ten days. Turning his head, Blair watched as his partner locked the loft door, then went into the kitchen. 

Once Blair had been able to keep his eyes open for longer than a minute or two at a stretch, he'd been appalled at his lover's state of exhaustion and had spent a great deal of his slowly-returning energy in coercing Jim to eat regular meals or to return to the motel for sleep. Fortunately, Simon had initially been there to lend his not inconsiderable support and between the two of them, they had managed to get Ellison to stop the haunting the hospital room for at least short periods. The Cascade police captain had picked them up at the airport an hour ago, and brought them home, giving Jim back the keys to his truck whick Banks had driven home from Oregon the week prior. 

Refocusing to see Jim pouring steaming water into a mug, Blair wondered if now might finally be the right time to push his lover into discussing what was bothering him. Having spoken to Simon privately before the big man left Wind Swept Bay, Blair knew Jim was blaming himself for something Blair couldn't even remember. For Blair, his memory ended with getting into the truck in Portland and didn't pick up again until after regaining consciousness in the hospital. Dr. Moran, when consulted by an alarmed Jim Ellison, was reassuring; people often lost time after suffering a traumatic brain injury, he told them. In some cases, whole weeks, if not months or years, had been wiped out. 

The heady scent of his favorite chamomile tea wafted in front of him. Reaching out, Blair took his mug from Ellison. "Thanks," he murmured, sipping a little. 

"No problem, Chief," answered Ellison as he drank his coffee. "How's the head?" Over the last week, Blair's color had slowlly returned, but he still tended to tire easily. 

"Still attached." Chuckling at Ellison's old-fashioned look, Blair continued drinking his tea. Several quiet minutes later, he casually asked, "Jim, what happened down there?" 

Inwardly tensing, Ellison countered, "What do you mean?" 

Oh, ho--so that's the way we're going to play it. "Well, I mean, how did we end up in that place?" Blair shrugged. "Did you hear those guys from all the way out on the highway?" His eyes suddenly lit up. "Whoa, that would be so cool!" 

"Hold it a minute there, Darwin." Ellison laughed in spite of himself. "No, I didn't hear those guys from the highway. They were in an underground cavern, remember? With all the noise that storm was making, I was having a hard time hearing you, let alone trying to hear something over a mile away and several hundred feet underground." 

"Well, then, how did we end up in that old place?" 

"It was the only shelter from the storm, and..." Ellison knew his uneasiness was getting more obvious. "Listen, Sandburg, I know I told you all this before." He really didn't want to go over it again, not until enough time had passed for him to logically think about those events. He made the mistake, though, of looking over at the younger man and sighed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd caved in under the expectant look in those eyes. 

"You'd fallen and bruised your knee, so we couldn't walk very far." Jim took a fortifying sip of coffee. "When we finally reached the place, we found it was old and boarded up, had been for years." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blair frown at this, but he continued, "We went inside to get out of the storm. It wasn't that bad--just rather dusty--and we got a fire going in an old fireplace so we could dry off. There wasn't anything else to do or anywhere else to go, so we stayed put and just talked and slept. It was hours later that I heard the voices coming from the cavern. We investigated and found the secret door. That's when we stumbled on the drug smugglers and you..." Throat tightening, Ellison could not go on. 

Face grave with understanding, Blair leaned over and softly kissed a clenched jaw. "Jim, it wasn't your fault I got shot." 

"How can you say that? You don't even remember what happened." 

"No, I don't," agreed Blair, snuggling against the larger frame. He gave a murmur of contentment when a muscular arm reached out and drew him close. "I only know what you've told Simon, and what you told me when I asked. But, I also know there's something you _haven't_ told me." 

Stiffening, Ellison glanced down at the face so close to his. "What?" He surely can't mean... 

"Jim, I know my Blessed Protector. You're eating yourself alive with guilt over not having heard those guys soon enough to get me clear." Blair knew he was on the right track when the rigid body holding him tensed even further. Raising his head, he looked his lover in the eye. "Simon told me you'd said that Jeffries guy was holding a gun on you and that I got hit when I jumped in front of you." Seeing Ellison flinch at that, he leaned over and kissed him again. "I may not remember doing that, Jim, but I do know that I would do it again without thinking. I can take a lot of things, my love, but I can't take living on without you and I'll do _anything_ to keep you from getting hurt or killed." 

Wide-eyed, Ellison stared at him a moment then, with an inarticulate groan, swept the smaller man into his lap, crushing him against his chest. "Blair..." Voice raw, Ellison could not go on, so he settled for burying his head in the silky curls. 

Resting his aching head against a broad shoulder, Blair lay there quietly. When several minutes had passed, he deliberately changed the subject. "It's a shame that old house had to burn down. Did the sheriff say if it'd been empty long?" 

"It's been empty since the owner died." Continuing to hold him tightly, Ellison decided to give him at least a portion of the truth. "According to Whitcomb, the place was built around 1878 or so by Jonathan Burke, the town doctor. He'd just gotten married and the house was for his new bride, Margaret. They only had one child, a daughter, Elizabeth, who was born in 1882. Doctor and Mrs. Burke died in the great flu epidemic after World War I and Beth, who had never left home, turned it into a bed and breakfast for the tourist hordes who were looking for peace, quiet, and lovely scenery. Beth continued to run it--and made quite a good living doing so--until she died in December of 1969. She'd never married so there were no heirs, and it seems no one wanted to pay the price that premium piece of real estate would have fetched. So, the old place was just boarded up and left the rot." 

"So how did Jeffries and his gang know about the secret door?" wondered Blair. "Or was it open knowledge in the town?" 

"No. Whitcomb and the others were just as surprised as we were." Jim brushed back heavy curls, pressing a tender kiss between the lambent eyes. "It took a few days of detective work, but one of Whitcomb's deputies finally figured it out. Back before the turn of the century, a young man by the name of Elias Horne was the gardener at the Burkes; he also used to do odd jobs about the house. He found the secret door somehow and he wrote about it in a journal. Around 1900, though, there was some kind of scandal and young Horne had to leave town." 

"But what does that have to do with Jeffries?" 

"I'm getting there. Whitcomb and his men searched Jeffries' apartment at Wind Swept Bay. According to his landlord, Jeffries had come from Los Angeles and had been there about 18 months, working as a drug counselor at a local halfway house for troubled teens." Ellison gave a short nod at Blair's grimace of disbelief. "Yeah, Chief; here he is, supposed to be helping these kids and the whole time, he's selling them the stuff to keep them hooked and desperate. Anyway, one of the things turned up in the search was Elias Horne's old journal. Deputy Marsten became curious as to how Jeffries had gotten hold of that old book and did some checking. It appears Elias Horne was Mark Jeffries' maternal great-grandfather. Sometime in his life, Jeffries must've read the old man's book, and when things got a little hot for him down in California, he decided to shift his operations further north. He must've figured his luck had taken a definite turn for the better when he found that, not only was the secret cavern still accessible, but the old house was deserted, making it easier to come and go without arousing suspicions." 

"He wasn't so lucky, though, was he?" observed Blair, fighting back a yawn. Damn it, he'd slept enough the last week and a half not to need sleep again for a month! "I mean, dropping dead from a stroke right in the middle of collecting his biggest score yet..." Sandburg shook his head wisely. "Bad karma, man--it'll get you everytime." 

Ignoring that, Ellison gave him a sapient look. "Sounds as if you need to get upstairs and take a nap." Anticipating the anthropologist's protest, he laid a finger across the full mouth. "Okay, then you lie down on the couch and rest. You're doing one or the other, Chief; it's up to you." 

Mumbling under his breath that he wasn't aware that he had two mothers, Sandburg took himself off his lover's lap, and when Ellison had stood up, stretched himself out on the couch, closing his eyes. A light tap on the end of his nose a moment later brought his eyes open again to see Jim standing beside him, holding out a glass of water and a pill. 

Easily reading the gleam in the blue eyes, Ellison said pleasantly, "You'll take this voluntarily, Chief, or I'll hold your nose and force feed it to you." 

His wilting glare bouncing harmlessly off the bigger man, Sandburg reluctantly hitched himself up and took the pill. After drinking the water, he wordlessly handed the empty glass back to the grinning detective. 

"That's great, Chief," praised Ellison. He didn't budge. "Now, swallow it," he urged knowingly. 

Caught out, Sandburg swallowed the pill, making a face as he did so. Lying back down to the sound of Jim's quiet laughter, Blair gave a small smile of his own as he closed his eyes. He could listen to that music forever. 

Coming back into the living room with a bottle of beer, Jim paused for a minute at the sight of the blissfully sleeping figure. Setting the beer down on the coffee table, he grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over his sleeping lover. Picking up the bottle, he sank into the easy chair where he could keep a close watch on Blair. Gaze fixed on the middle distance, he sat there a while then, taking a long swallow of beer, he set the bottle down again and, rising, went over to his small carryall by the door and drew out a large, faded brown envelope. Returning to his chair, he opened it and, carefully pulling out the yellowing sheets of paper, he stared at them, not really reading the spidery writing. He already knew the letter by heart; he'd committed those bizarre words to memory the very day Simon had brought the discolored envelope to him...the envelope Banks had found on the seat of Ellison's locked truck. 

Dear Jim and Blair: 

This is so difficult to write--where does one start? How does one explain the unexplainable? As I sit here writing this, I am well aware that the world would call me insane or senile, but I am neither. If I had lost my mind, it would have happened all those years ago when my life shattered around me and I was plunged into an eternity of darkness and loneliness. Somehow, though, I held on, for I knew a day of reckoning would arrive; a day when justice would finally be served. For uncounted years I hung onto my waning hopes; then early one morning in 1959, I awoke from a strange dream. I had dreamt of a newly-born boy, with clear blue eyes and soft brown hair; suddenly the infant was gone and in his place was a tall, strong man with the same piercing eyes, full of wisdom and compassion. When I awoke, I rejoiced, for I knew that my savior had been born and that my time of vengeance was finally to hand. I knew I would have to wait until the child grew into manhood, but after so many miserable years, the idea of a few more could be borne. 

Thus, you can imagine my surprise when I was once again awoken, ten years later, by another bizarre dream. I again had dreamt of a baby boy, only this one was tinier, with chestnut curls and laughing sapphire eyes. Once again, the infant vanished and in its place stood a man, not so tall, maybe, but sturdy with long, tumbling curls and the serenity of the ages in his depthless eyes. For awhile, I despaired--did this mean I had to wait for this child to become a man, also? That was so many years away, and already I was an old woman. Finally, the truth came to me and I truly fell into hopelessness for I knew I was to die without seeing my pain vindicated. What made this so unendurable was that I knew, without this righting of old wrongs, I would not be able to rejoin my beloved on the other side of Life. To lose that hope after almost 70 years, was too cruel and I nearly sank into madness. Suddenly, into my darkness, came my lover's voice, urging me not to lose hope, to only have faith. In a twinkling it all became clear to me and so I sit down to pen this...to tell you exactly what happened so long ago, and why what is coming _must_ be. 

In March, 1900, I was 17 years old, healthy and not uncomely, taking after my Mama with her dark hair and eyes. I do not think it would be vain of me to say that I had many suitors for I was considered exremely marriageable due to my looks and Papa's position as Town Doctor. Yet, I would have none of them for I was already happily, giddily in love; living only for what I saw in beautiful hazel eyes, and endlessly plotting how we could be alone. Young as I was, I was not naive and I knew what my parents--indeed, the world--would say if they discovered that I and Abby, the parlor maid, were deeply in love. Since the day she had come to us, three years prior, there had been a spark between us, an almost physical bond and the prejudices of our times meant less than nothing to us. We even planned to run away together after I had turned eighteen. 

One day, on my way back from town, I was walking down our road when, suddenly, Elias Horne stepped out in front of me from behind a tree. Of all the men in town, him I liked the least, with his lank blond hair and pale blue eyes, his overwhelming arrogance. Time after time, I had pleaded with Papa to discharge him, but to no avail; Papa would only shake his head, for Elias was willing to work odd hours for little wage. I soon found the reason for this as, that March day, Elias stopped me and showed me a handful of gold nuggets. At first, he would only shake his head and laugh when I demanded to know where he had obtained them; then, leaning so close his horrid breath brushed my cheek, he admitted to me that he and a few of the other town ruffians were using the cavern that opened onto the cove below our house for truly heinous work. They would wait until a storm promised then, armed with a foreknowledge of shipping schedules seduced out of the harbor master when he was drunk, they would light a signal fire, drawing the gold-laden ships from Alaska into the dangerous cove. Once the luckless ship had struck upon the rocks, these parasites would plunder her cargo, mercilessly killing any poor sailor who happened to survive the wreck. 

Sickened by this story, I tried to pass by, but he would not let me. Leaning closer still, he confided in me that he had saved his share of the spoils; saved for the day when he would be able to buy me an elegant house in Portland or Seattle, even San Francisco, if that was my desire. There we would live the life of rich idleness, entertaining society and letting others work for us. Disgusted beyond words, I lashed out and slapped him. The blow seemed to loosen my tongue and I spat out the truth--that his very presence was repulsive to me and no authority on the Earth could ever force me to marry him. Mama had always warned me that my temper would be my downfall, and to my horror, that day she was proven correct. Pale eyes growing cold and evil, Elias slapped me back; when I had regained my wits, I was lying on the ground and he was kneeling over me... 

I lost consciousness during the dreadful act, and when I roused, he was gone. Pulling my torn clothes together, I ran for home, sobbing the entire way. Luckily for me, Mama was out and so I was able to escape to my room unnoticed. Once there, I threw my clothes into the fire, and drawing a hot bath, scrubbed until my skin was raw and bleeding, trying to wash the stench of him off me. To my regret, my dearest Abby walked in, wondering why I had not stopped in the kitchen for a quick kiss. Several years older than I and steeped in the ways of men, she knew what had occurred the instant she laid eyes on me. Losing the temper which went with her red hair, she shrieked and cursed, vowing revenge upon the one who had treated me so. In my shock and shame, I turned from her, muttering that I would not let my dishonor touch her. She pleaded and wept, imploring me to believe that the disgrace was not mine, but I would not consider it. Too soon, we heard the soound of Mama's carriage and Abby knew she had to return to the kitchen. Wiping her eyes, she insisted we would speak of this later, after everyone had gone to bed. 

At dinner that night, I pleaded a headache and stayed in my room. I could not sit there with my unknowing parents, and I could not tell them of my shameful fate. I could not sit there with Abby's gentle eyes on me, full of the love I knew I had betrayed. Recalling her words, I knew she would come to me that night, and for the first time, I was filled with dread at the thought. As I listened to the parlor clock strike 11:30, I dressed and headed downstairs, meaning to take a walk to clear my head. Reaching the foot of the stairs, though, I heard a small sound, as of a board squeaking and as I whirled, I saw the cupboard door to the secret stairs was open. At that moment, lightening flashed overhead and I knew with horrified certainty what was occurring...Horne and his foul followers were going to wreck another ship this night. 

For some moments, I struggled with my fear. Then, knowing I could not let innocent lives be lost because of my foolish weakness, I went into the study to get Papa's gun and then I went down the stone stairs to confront them. As I got nearer, though, I realized in terror that I could hear my beloved. Peering into the room, I saw she was being held fast by two brawny men. Captive though she was, she was beautiful in her fury, shouting at Horne that she knew he was the one who had disgraced me that day and that she intended to make him acknowledge it. To my revulsion, he merely laughed at her, running his hands over her body and then kissing her. Enraged beyond thought, I stepped into the cavern, raising Papa's pistol. But oh, merciful God, I was too late; for even as I fired, he pulled the trigger on his own pistol and my darling, lovely Abby fell to the ground, dead. 

Papa found me there the next morning, cradling Abby in my arms and rocking back and forth. I do not remember the next three weeks; Papa said I was ill with brain fever and nearly died. He seemed surprised that one of my first coherent questions should be about Elias Horne. But, he told me that Horne had disappeared from town under suspicious circumstances for blood had been found in his room. I must have hit him, but unfortunately, not badly enough to kill the monster. Two weeks later, I was able to visit Abby's grave in a quiet, shaded corner of the cemetery. Kneeling, I vowed revenge, justice, and undying love. For however long it would take, I would wait. 

That is my story, Jim, Blair. I am sorry for using you without your knowledge or consent, but Fate can be a harsh master. My dreams have shown that you two are to be the focus by which I can exact Abby's and my revenge. I do not know why you were chosen; I only know that you were. I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but please, try to understand. Because of you, I have a chance to be with my Abby, even after both our deaths have separated us. For that, I would gamble with Satan, himself. 

Words can not express my gratitude, but thank you, from the bottom of my soul. Be healthy, and above all, be happy. 

Sincerely,  
Beth Burke  
December 6, 1969 

Rousing himself from his daze, Jim glanced around the darkening apartment. His eyes lit on his lover's peacefully sleeping form. Understand...yes. Forgive...? Gaze unwavering, he slowly, and with great precision, tore the yellowed pieces of paper into tiny bits. 

* * *

End No Ghost At Midnight. 

 


End file.
